It had become the fashion to visit the Beau in the morning. His Royal Highness called nearly every day and had long discussions on dress with the young man who, sixteen years younger than the Heir to the Throne, had set himself up as the leader of fashion.

Even at Eton, George Brummel had a reputation for wit and an elegant appearance, and in the Prince’s Regiment, the Tenth Hussars, he had made his mark.

It was the most expensive, most impertinent, the best dressed and the worst mannered Regiment in the British Army, but the younger members of Society made every effort to obtain a Commission in it.

Now there was no question that in the Beau Monde and among its emulators Brummel was a despot.

Many rivals were jealous of him and tried to attack him with words and witticisms. But badinage was Beau Brummel’s weapon and a nicely calculated insolence was his shield.

He spoke his mind on every subject, but most especially on clothes, on which he was really an unchallenged expert.

More than once he had reduced the Heir Apparent to despair by his caustic comments on the Royal apparel.

This morning Lord Dorrington noted as he entered the drawing room that Brummel was in a good temper and smiling benignly at the assembled company.

The Prince of Wales was there, as were Lord Alvanley and Lord Yarmouth.

Just as Lord Dorrington arrived, the Duke of Bedford was asking Beau Brummel’s opinion on his coat.

Brummel, who was having his hair arranged by a barber in the windswept style that he usually favoured, rose to his feet and looked solemnly at His Grace in the front and then turned him round to look at his back.

“Bedford,” he said at length, almost with tears of reproach in his eyes, “do you in all seriousness call that thing a coat?”

Lord Dorrington had long suspected that the long hours Beau Brummel spent in dressing were largely a pose.

No one knew better than that ambitious young man the value of pose and he employed it to the full limit.

He had imposed the legend of himself upon his contemporaries and to command their attention he had to give out his directives and rules almost every day of the week.

This morning Beau Brummel had invented a new necktie, which was causing a great deal of comment.

It was only a short time ago that he had created a sensation when he first appeared with a starched neck-cloth.

Now the height and variations that he achieved kept the fops and the dandies in a continual state of agitation lest they should fail to copy him.

This morning’s effort was very intricate and Beau Brummel confessed that he had not yet given it a name.

“We ought to be able to think of something amusing,” Lord Alvanley said.

“Why not the Cygnet?” Lord Yarmouth suggested.

He thought for a moment, then said dramatically,